“An’ must the min that votes for the Englishman put in a crass, too?”
“Every man of them.”
“Och, thin, glory be to God! shure it’s a judgmint on thim Protestants for to have to make the sign av the blessed an’ holy crass at all, at all—curse of Crummle on thim!”
Fearing a disturbance, as party spirit ran so high and as my supporters were so excited, a strong detachment of the Sixtieth Rifles was marched into Ballyraken on the eve of the polling. The Protestant landlords had secured free quarters in the town for such of their tenantry as chose to inhabit them, while they themselves occupied the Club House and De Ruthven Arms in a most imposing and demonstrative manner.
I was walking down the main street, all alone, thinking not of the forthcoming ballot, but of Mabel, when I perceived my opponent lounging on the steps of the Club House. I should be compelled to pass the Club House or cross the street, and as I was a member of the club, although I never frequented it, I now resolved upon boldly entering the enemy’s camp.
I was passing Melton with a nod when he stepped forward and in a singularly insolent tone demanded a word with me. He was very white.
“I was at Kilkenley yesterday.”
“Indeed!” I said. His tone was too uncertain to admit of my making any comment upon his visit.
“I suppose Miss Hawthorne is acting under your orders?” he hissed.
“I am at a loss to understand your meaning, sir,” I hotly replied.